


I Will Build You A Pyre

by FiliTheLionKing (IAmYourWatson)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Don't say I didn't warn you, M/M, So much angst, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, and death, requested by oursisthefury, you will cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmYourWatson/pseuds/FiliTheLionKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a drabble prompt I got on Tumblr for my Fíli rp account: "I won't leave you: Your muse is dying, and my muse is in danger of it as well if they don't run. But my muse refuses to leave you, preferring to die along side yours." </p><p>This stars Fíli and Kíli during the Battle of the Five Armies. Prepare for angst and death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Build You A Pyre

**Author's Note:**

  * For [broflcvskii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/broflcvskii/gifts).



Fíli has never hated anyone in his life. He might get angry at someone, he might hold a bit of a grudge, but he has never truly hated anyone. Now he hates two people. 

The first is the orc that just fell beneath his twin blades. 

The second is his Uncle Thorin.

He hates the orc because it just mortally wounded Kíli. He hates his uncle because it’s Thorin’s fault that Kíli now lies dying at Fíli’s feet. He can kill the orc, and he has. He can’t kill Thorin, firstly because Thorin is his king, and secondly because a warg just beat him to it. He hopes it hurt. 

Fíli hates, for the first time in his life. It’s not pleasant. 

There is a new wave of fresh orcs heading their way. He has this brief chance of living, if only he turns and runs for his life. He could become the new King and rule over Erebor in a time of relative peace, if they defeat the orc army. He could destroy the Arkenstone, throw it back into the mountain’s heart where it belongs, he could make Erebor three times the kingdom Thorin, Thrain, or Thror could have. He could rule for many long years in wealth and luxury. But that’s not what he wants. What he wants lays dying at his feet, and he falls to his knees beside him.

“Kíli….” He whispers brokenly, the blood that’s dripping from his hair, the blood of too many orcs and wargs to count, landing on Kíli’s rapidly paling cheek. Fíli was called the Golden Prince; his golden hair is now red and black with blood and gore and the death of all his dreams. He bends down and gently moves Kíli onto his lap, cradling his baby brother, his  _atamanel_ , his One, close to his chest. 

“Y-you idiot….r-run…” Kíli whispers, barely audible over the deafening sounds of battle, blood dripping from his mouth, the mouth that Fíli had kissed not several hours ago before they charged to their deaths. “You can…s-still make it, leave me….b-behind…” More blood paints Kíli’s lips a garish red. 

“No,  _nadadith_ , I will not leave you behind. Never will I leave you behind.” He gathered Kíli close, holding him like he did when they were children and Kíli had a nightmare and woke up screaming. “We’re going to be fine, you and me. The battle’s almost over, we’re going to win, we’ll be princes.”

“….No, we’re not…” Kíli sounded old, far older than he would ever get to be. Fíli sometimes forgot how wise his little brother really was, and how clever. They both knew that they would never see the thrones meant for them again. “B-but you can be….if you just….go already…!” Blood flowed like a waterfall from Kíli’s mouth for a brief second.

“No, Kíli. I will not go without you.” Fíli pressed a kiss to Kíli’s pale and sweaty and gore-covered brow. He chanced a look up; a miniature army of goblins and orcs had spotted them, and were turning to kill off the last of the line of Durin. Let them come, Fíli thought. “Wait for me, okay? I will bring you the bodies of our enemies, I will build us a pyre from their corpses, we will find our rest on a mountain of bodies, proof that we died with honor and in battle. We will take as many of them with us as we can…” 

“S-such violent words…..” Kíli chuckled, his grip finally giving way, and his bow clattered to the ground. His eyelids were fluttering open and closed, more closed than open with every second. “…You should have run…” 

“Sssh,  _nadadel_.” Fíli kissed Kíli’s lips one last time, the taste of blood covering Kíli’s own sweet taste. He lamented that their last kiss was to be this way, but he spent a few precious moments savoring it all the same. When he pulled back, Kíli’s lips were smiling, but he was no longer breathing. The large spearhead sticking out of Kíli’s gut was black and red, shreds of blue clothing sticking to it. 

Fíli gently laid Kíli down on the rocky, blood-slick ground. He stood, grim-determination locked on his face, his expression stormy and dark. Kíli’s blood stained his lips and chin and cheeks and beard like war paint. His eyes were wild, his swords ready, his mouth snarling like the lion he was. The orcs and goblins were mere feet away. 

He roared.

 

* * *

 

Songs would be sung of that day. Great ballads, soaring epic poems, rousing war cries masquerading as lyrics. They would tell of Bilbo, the brave little Hobbit who stayed by their king’s side, guarding his dead body from the ravages of the wargs til the Eagles saved them all. They would sing of Thorin, of how he fell to the gold sickness but redeemed himself in the fury of battle, breaking the curse of the line of Durin. But most of all, they would sing of Fíli and Kíli, sons of Dís, princes of Erebor, last scions of the line of Durin. They sang of two brothers, bound by love and loyalty to each other and their kin, who could have become great kings, dying in their uncle’s war. They cried and wept to music about their tragic story, cut so short, and the love they shared. 

For the two brothers were found lying side by side on the rocky ground, each covered in blood, each dead as the stones they lay on, surrounded by a ring of mangled bodies like a twisted halo around their heads. Fíli had built them their pyre, and oh how it burned…


End file.
